This note is about the saloon. I make it as brief as possible. Read it
when you have time. As we were the first experimentalists last night you
will be glad to know what it wants.
First, the refreshments are preposterously dear. A glass of wine is a
shilling, and it ought to be sixpence.
Secondly, they were served out by the wrong sort of people--two most
uncomfortable drabs of women, and a dirty man with his hat on.
Thirdly, there ought to be a box-keeper to ring a bell or give some
other notice of the commencement of the overture to the after-piece. The
promenaders were in a perpetual fret and worry to get back again.
And fourthly, and most important of all--if the plan is ever to
succeed--you must have some notice up to the effect that as it is now a
place of resort for ladies, gentlemen are requested not to lounge there
in their hats and greatcoats. No ladies will go there, though the
conveniences should be ten thousand times greater, while the sort of
swells who have been used to kick their heels there do so in the old
sort of way. I saw this expressed last night more strongly than I can
tell you.
Hearty congratulations on the brilliant triumph. I have always expected
one, as you know, but nobody could have imagined the reality.
Always, my dear Macready,
Affectionately yours.
1842.